After Never Too Late
by sunshiner
Summary: There'd always been a goal, some dream or ambition. Something to make him wake up in the morning and give a damn. For the last three years, it was Home, Friends, and Aeryn. Not necessarily in that order. Now, what was left?


Summary: There'd always been a goal, some dream or ambition. Something to make him wake up in the morning and give a damn. For the last three years, it was Home, Friends, and Aeryn. Not necessarily in that order. Now, what was left?   
Author Notes: My thanks to KodiakkeMax for Beta. You rock! And also to Farscape Ally, for inspiring my then/than doublecheck macro.   
Story Notes: Story takes place between DWTB and CK. Just a tad AU, but close enough for school.  
Disclaimer: Excerpt taken from The Space Child's Mother Goose by Frederick Winsor. You'll know it when you see it. Also, I do not own these Farscape Characters. I'm just playing with them.  
Author's Website:   
Feedback: Please, please, please. wayfarer@cfl.rr.com  
  
  
  
  
~After Never Too Late~  
  
  
Rock-a-bye baby, in the treetop,   
When the wind blows the cradle will rock,  
  
  
Can't you find something else to do?  
  
  
When the bough breaks the cradle will fall,  
And down will come baby, cradle and all.  
  
Are you through?  
  
  
Don't blame me, John. This is your preoccupation.  
  
***  
  
A human, a neural clone, and a pulse pistol walk into a bar.  
  
It was an old joke and getting older by the minute. Go to the next inhabited planet, find a place with a bad reputation, hang around drinking raslak while he listened to shop talk. Hope to God whomever mistook him for a Peacekeeper thought he had friends and let him be. Pray even harder there were no real Peacekeepers around.   
  
Sometimes the prayers worked; other times he was lucky to get out alive.  
  
Anti-terrorist squads didn't feel the need to advertise in the Yellow Pages and no one liked answering questions much. He learned not to ask, but there was always talk. Always some crumb he could overhear, some morsel of information to make him think he was on the right trail, or at least close to the trail. Enough to keep him going, empty handed, hung over, chasing the thread of another rumor to another world.   
  
Lather, rinse, repeat.  
  
Occasionally, what happened in the middle was different. He so needed different.  
  
***  
  
"What will you do when you find them?"  
  
He tipped back the bottle, swallowed deep, set it down on the table. "I dunno." He had stopped thinking about a big welcome home party long ago, where everything went back to normal. What was so great about that brand of normal anyway? All the running and hiding? Dodging? Oh, wait. It was the bleeding, right? Yeah, can't forget that. Them's good memories.   
  
"Then why try?"  
  
"Because-." Good question. He was still working on that one. Had a theory though. "It's all I know how to do."  
  
"You must know something else."  
  
There was a time he would have agreed with her immediately, if for no other reason than he was lonely and she was beautiful. His distinction of beauty had changed a lot in the last few years, surrounded by females of brilliant blue, sultry gray, and dazzling gold. There was something alluring about pale yellow too.   
  
He dropped coins on the table, making sure it wasn't that coin, and pushed his chair back. "I know-," How to make wormholes. Want one? "I need to go home." Needed to refocus on his real business here, the only job he had left in the universe. He avoided her gaze as he stood, knowing she would be watching him, waiting for an invitation. An invitation he wanted to give because he needed someone to touch, who would touch him back.   
  
She must have seen it, because her arm slid through his, at once strong and gentle. Guiding. "I can take you home."  
  
"My place or yours?" He laughed, trying to figure out a way to untangle his arm without insulting her.   
  
She had the good grace not to let go. "Do you have a place?"  
  
The solitude hurt him the most, with only the voice in his head for company. "No." He leaned against her, letting her take him out into the street. "Not anymore."  
  
***  
  
"I have to go."  
  
"Why?" He propped himself on one elbow and watched her dress. As little as three days ago, he wouldn't have cared. Hell, yesterday he might have walked her to the door. Today, she was a habit.   
  
"It's just time." She tossed in an afterthought. "You were fun, though."  
  
Fun? His ego bristled but it was secondary. He recognized her actions: the hurried, nervous motions, the grin so her words appeared casual. Vague answers. "Who's chasing you?" He sat up, gathering the threadbare blanket in his lap, making ancient bed supports squeak.  
  
She glanced over, fingers still working the fasteners of her vest. The look toward him was brief and guilty. She covered with a shrug. "You wouldn't understand."  
  
The only thing he did understand. Something of an expert. Maybe he should teach a class. "You'd be surprised."  
  
"I'm rarely surprised."   
  
"Micha." They had finally exchanged names, murmuring to each other in the same fashion civilized people said goodnight. He had never used it before now; afraid it would somehow make her too real to him. He suspected she had the same fear.  
  
"Maybe I'm the one doing the chasing."  
  
"That doesn't answer my question."  
  
"I guess not."   
  
"Fine. Whatever. You don't want me involved." They had a deal. No attachments, no obligations. Don't get too close. Don't care. He hadn't the strength and she lacked the will for that sort of responsibility. Just asking why had violated their agreement. Continuing the conversation was a complete breach of contract. He needed to stop now and let her leave. There was enough on his plate.  
  
Mama always said I never knew when to quit.  
  
She hesitated at the door, back towards him so he couldn't see her face. Her voice was a reluctant confession, wistful and resigned. "I don't want to take you with me. But I don't want to go alone."  
  
Made perfect sense to him. He dressed while she waited.  
  
***  
  
Hickory, dickory, dock,  
The rat ran up the clock,  
  
  
Mouse. It's a mouse, not a rat.  
  
  
The clock struck one,  
The mouse ran down,  
  
  
Quit it with the nursery rhymes already.  
  
  
Hickory, dickory  
  
  
Harvey!  
  
  
Dock.  
  
***  
  
The planet was a bust, but he was used to that by now. Another fun-filled stop on the Magical Misery Tour. So far, she wasn't bored and he still had a few knock-knock jokes left in his repertoire. Good for another week, at least. But he thought that a week ago.  
  
They re-supplied, salvaging what they could of an otherwise wasted trip. They didn't need much, just the two of them. A few things to tide them over until they hit the next world.  
  
He told her about Aeryn. She told him about Talas. He didn't remember who thought up the game first.  
  
"How's this one?" He held up a fleshy sphere for inspection. Fruit, he decided. Didn't really care. She liked them and that was something to aim for.  
  
"No. Not ripe enough."  
  
"Okay. Your turn." He dropped the sphere and looked for another, pawing through the food items on display, checking freshness. "How'd you meet?"  
  
"I stowed away on a troop ship and was caught. He was in trouble with his captain. We helped each other escape." She frowned over a bin of purple leaf. "We were inseparable."  
  
His grocery bag was half full. Or half empty, depending. No matter how he looked at it, he still only had half a bag. "Why'd you leave him?"  
  
"It's your question now."   
  
He paid for his purchase and followed her to another stall. "Ask away."  
  
"When did you know you loved her?"  
  
He sucked slow air between his teeth, unwilling to cast back through those memories. His gaze drifted, searching for someplace safe to anchor. "Ask something else."  
  
She moved against him, pressed to his chest, face tilted up against his height. Forcing him to look down at a smile he dubbed Chiana No. 5. "That's against the rules."   
  
"Never been good with rules." He tried to step around her.   
  
She didn't let him. "When?"  
  
He wanted her to be sorry for asking. "When I killed her." Not really true, but not necessarily a lie. Somewhere in the murky middle of close enough. Still made the corners of his jaw ache, thinking about it.  
  
She took the bag from his hand, slung it over her shoulder and walked away, heading to the module. "I don't want to play anymore."  
  
He followed, unhappy with his victory, keeping an eye on her. One eye on everything else. "Can't quit when it's your turn."  
  
"That's the best time to quit."  
  
***  
  
"John Crichton?"  
  
"Yes, Pilot?" He almost forgot it wasn't the right voice, but this one was fragile. Like the delicate porcelain of his mother's good china. The Leviathan had been waiting to die when they found him, trying desperately not to die. It was an act of pity to bring him and his strange craft aboard. They owed him nothing. He took everything gratefully and regretted the necessity.   
  
"The Lenac shipyard is less than twelve arns away. However, as there is a heavy Peacekeeper presence, we have no desire to go further."  
  
Took the words right out of his mouth. "You don't have to."   
  
"Neither do you." She stood beside him on Command, looking out through the forward view screen, avoiding his gaze like he avoided hers.  
  
"This is the best lead we've ever had."   
  
"You mean the best lead I've ever had."  
  
"Peacekeeper presence. Good chance I'll find something." Someone.  
  
"And if you're recognized?"  
  
"I'll improvise." He turned his head, not expecting she would already be looking at him. Not expecting it would coax a rare smile onto his lips. "You worried?"  
  
"About you?" Her smile came free, natural like his used to be. Fingers laced together in a way that reminded him of Zhaan's perpetual patience. Humoring him.  
  
"Yeah." He wanted her to say no, because those were the laws they lived by. He needed her to say yes, because his nature was flawed.   
  
She brought her hand to his face, a touch upon his cheek. Warm skin on warm skin. Why is that such a novelty?   
  
"I wouldn't stop you from chasing your fate. No more than you would stop me from chasing mine."  
  
Fate. It was a concept he almost didn't believe in anymore. "Is that what we're doing?"  
  
"Better than running from it." With a shrug, her hand dropped.  
  
He caught it. "Fate's a bitch."  
  
***  
  
Star light, star bright,  
First star I see tonight.  
  
  
You can't see any stars.  
  
  
Wish I may, wish I might,  
  
  
And even if you could, we're in space.   
  
  
Have the wish I wish tonight.  
  
  
You have to be on a planet. Where the stars come out one by one.  
  
Well?  
  
  
Sorry, Pinocchio. Didn't work. You're not a real boy.  
  
***  
  
They left the module behind. The tiny white ship, obvious for its alien and archaic design, was a calling card he could do without. Better to take the transport pod. No one ever paid attention to those.  
  
He strapped a second pistol to his other thigh, since Winona needed a friend too. And he wore the hood she gave him, because the best disguises were always the simplest.  
  
Just ask Clark Kent.  
  
Water fell from the sky and thunder rolled. It was warm and humid, pushing tolerable Sebacean heat levels. But he was raised under a southern sun where winter happened to other people. He ignored the sweat dripping between his shoulder blades. Almost liked it, reminded him he wasn't freezing to death in deep space.  
  
"We do best work. They all come here," said the voice, a gurgle issued from a squat, toad-like creature.   
  
It would not speak to him, but her it liked. So he stayed a few feet back, giving them space, a nod toward privacy. Still close enough in case of trouble.  
  
"The ship is called *The Alstorin*," she said. "Privately owned. Captain by the name of Talas Mor."  
  
"Yes. Repairs." Froggy smiled, half its face swallowed by the actions of a lower lip. "Like I say." It stuck out a hand, a webbed paw supposedly more dexterous than it looked, silently demanding currency.  
  
She paid the informant, completing the transaction with the efficiency of familiarity.  
  
He looked up at a gray sky, toward the shipyard intermittently visible through thick clouds. Not impressed by the engineering marvel of a near-space orbiting maintenance platform. Blinded to the magnificence of the transport shaft, rising like a gleaming Tower of Babel, tapering away from the planet's surface toward the corpulent bulk of the geosynchronous satellite.   
  
"Could be thousands of ships up there," he said, once the Lenac was out of earshot. Most of them Peacekeeper. Prowlers, Marauders. Everything short of a Command Carrier. With a crew to compliment each one. The craft of other species were present, but a minority. Second class and treated as such.   
  
"I told you to stay behind," she said, turning around, taking the few steps necessary to bring her to his side.  
  
"I remember." Too late for second thoughts now. Too late to consider just how stupid a move this was. And too soon to go back. His stream of rumors had dried up and Lenac was a wellspring of new gossip. If the informant could be believed, everyone passed through this shipyard at one time or another. Maybe Aeryn had been here. Maybe Aeryn was still here. Maybe-  
  
Maybe the Big Bad Wolf was only selling Amway.  
  
Together they roamed streets edged by taverns and hostels. Between buildings that clustered around the giant anchors for the transport shaft's supportive cables. Past structures that sagged beneath the onslaught of constant rain. Winding through crowds of transients and tourists. Only the mechanics lived here, where gravity weighted every step and wet heat was the norm. Everyone else was killing time or stranded, with nothing to do but spend more money on diversions. Exiled to the planet because clients were not allowed inside the repair bays.   
  
She walked behind him, meek and subservient, avoiding attention. He kept shoulders back and head deep within the hood, hands held close to twin pistols. They found a place in a boarding house, secured a room with a view of the street and environmental controls set on ice.   
  
"It gets cold at night. The streets will fill with Peacekeepers. We should sleep until then."  
  
He sat on the bed, a weary hand dragging through sweat damp hair. "I'm not sleepy." Exhausted, but too anxious to rest. Too tired to be anything but tired. He glanced up as she stood before him, her arms crossed, hip angled. Jool's contentious pout.   
  
He tried to look convincing for her. Didn't try hard enough.  
  
She knelt before him, wedged between his knees. Fingers moved to her favorite places. "Then don't sleep."   
  
He closed his eyes and thought of someone else.   
  
***  
  
The routine was established. She woke before him, creeping out into the cool night to search for Talas, granting him the freedom to seek Aeryn in his own way.   
  
His way. Moving from one refreshment house to another, trying to be in the wrong place at the right time. Buying the cheap stuff so his money lasted longer. Nursing bottles so his wits lasted longer. Trying not to acknowledge he could drink more than he used to and still keep a clear head.  
  
*Not so clear a head tonight.* That happened more frequently than he wanted to admit. Call it a job hazard. He should get danger pay. Or bar discounts. Spokesperson status at the next AA meeting.  
  
The sidewalk unwound at his feet, a solid sheet of black rainwater that appeared to bounce and buck in time to his heartbeat. He reached a hand to a convenient wall, used the building for balance, afraid to blink his eyes in case they wouldn't open again.   
  
There were voices on the walk ahead of him. He registered the words like he used to hear crickets, taking the noise for granted. Not until the sound got closer did he pay attention.  
  
A quartet of Peacekeepers approached, splashing through puddles and ignoring the rain drops on uncovered heads. He watched them from beneath the edge of his hood, turning so his back touched the wall, out of their way, mentally running through the motions necessary to draw weapons. Trying not to look like the guy who blew up a Command Carrier.  
  
They passed by, talking strategy and previous victories, referring to the tavern just vacated and indicating the one about to be entered. They didn't notice anyone on the street with them. No one that wasn't a Peacekeeper. Who didn't have higher rank.  
  
He watched them disappear through a doorway and felt a touch of disappointment. Let down. It got old, being him. The script read the same; only the scenery changed. Caught in the endless loop of a Mobius strip. Walking around dead, except no one had put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger.  
  
There'd always been a goal, some dream or ambition. Something to make him wake up in the morning and give a damn. For the last three years, it was Home, Friends, and Aeryn.   
  
Not necessarily in that order.  
  
Now, what was left?  
  
Water leaked between the hood and the collar of his coat and all he wanted right now was to be dry. To sleep wrapped in arms that no longer seemed a peculiar shade of yellow. He pushed away from the wall and headed in the direction of the boarding house. It came into view around a corner. A block of gray blocks, broken by feeble light pushed through gray windows.  
  
She stood alone near the entrance, seemingly caught in private indecision.  
  
He pressed into the hollow of a doorway, peering around the edge to watch. Unable to tell if she were coming or going. Reluctant to intrude.  
  
She looked straight ahead, wet hair streaming across her face, obscuring saffron eyes. Her head turned, lifted, gaze seeking out the window to the room they shared. Found it shuttered, dark and lifeless. Then she looked over the other shoulder, where the glowing transport shaft rose above the city skyline and jabbed through the clouds. A dazzling beacon breaking free of the soil. Her conflict lasted a moment longer before her head bowed in surrender.   
  
He watched her duck into the boarding house and waited until light filled their window before coming out of his recess. But he didn't follow her. He found himself standing in the same spot she just departed, looking toward the transport shaft. Trying to determine what it was she saw there.  
  
The air was brightening, an unseen sun trying to make itself known through an overcast sky. He should go inside now. She would be waiting for him, wondering if he had found Aeryn and wasn't coming back. A direct opposite of what he got back before her.  
  
For her sake, he hoped she found Talas first. But he was greedy and secretly glad her search produced nothing.   
  
Minutes passed before he turned away from the sight, from the hazy glow of a new sun. It didn't matter. Today, he wouldn't wait in the room alone.  
  
***  
  
This is the song that never ends,   
  
  
Oh, hell no.  
  
  
It just goes on and on my friends,   
  
  
Stop. Right now. Just cut it out.  
  
  
Some people started singing it not knowing what it was   
  
  
Harvey. For the love of God.  
  
  
And they'll continue singing it forever just because,   
  
  
This is not fair.  
  
  
This is the song that never ends....  
  
***  
  
It was too early to be awake.  
  
Wasn't her leaving that roused him. She was still there, curled against his side, one leg thrown over his, a hand resting on his chest, autumn gold hair laced across his shoulder. Her breath was warm against his neck in a steady rhythm of sleep.   
  
No, something else had sent a current through his system, shaking him out of slumber with the forcefulness of a nightmare. A dream didn't do this. His senses were dulled to the horrors his mind created. Besides, the monsters under his bed were real. No illusion could possibly compare to that.   
  
A sound chirped from a far corner of the room, followed by a click and a whir that ground like shredded glass against his nerves. Instinct, survival mechanisms at work, held him still so only his eyes could seek out the source.  
  
The source looked like half a spider, hunched on the floor ten feet from the bed. Four legs, wicked thin and gleaming silver, supported a body no bigger than his fist. A glassy red circle shined where eyes should be. What passed for a mouth seemed too much like a gun barrel.  
  
Crude technology, a part of him thought. The part of him no longer impressed by scientific advances beyond the scope of his home world. All the coolest toys were just used to kill people anyway. The symbols on his arm, inked and re-inked like a mantra, were testament to that. But heavy rocks and pointy sticks got the job done too.   
  
"Don't move," he hissed, waking and warning her at one time. Taking a chance the insect worked on sight and not sound. Educated guess. Besides, he was between her and it. Somehow, that made everything okay.  
  
She didn't even twitch. No sign she was alert except the sudden weight of her hand on his skin. She wouldn't do anything until he told her to. They had rehearsed this without intending it, preparing for an unexpected eventuality. Contingencies upon contingencies.  
  
When dancing this close to the edge, it's all about the shoes.  
  
Winona slept on the table near the bed. Always in the same place. Always ready for him. He only had to reach out, a maneuver that would normally take half a second, but he extended his arm slowly. Inching painstakingly across.   
  
The glowing dot followed, tracking his movements.   
  
His fingers finally closed around the comforting chill of the molded grip. He started pulling Winona close, same slow movements, watching the tracer spot on his hand. The bug could only concentrate on one thing at a time. A metallic birddog with a singular mind.  
  
"Get back," he hissed again and she rolled smoothly off her side of the bed, away from danger, onto the floor.   
  
The insect didn't notice her, or didn't care, distracted as the pulse weapon was brought to bear. Its only response was a muted hum deep within a chrome body.  
  
"It ain't Raid, but it'll do." He squeezed the trigger.  
  
Nothing happened.  
  
His gaze flicked incredulously to Winona, as if the gun had betrayed him for another. But the pistol wasn't to blame. The chakan oil cartridge was gone.  
  
Panic formed in the pit of his stomach, worked up his throat and manifested as laughter. A thin, rasping release that tripped over the line between mirth and mockery. He looked to his side, to where she now stood, beyond the range of his arm.  
  
She didn't look back at him. Her gaze rested outside the window.  
  
The spider's hum turned loud in an instant and he didn't move fast enough. It spun a tesla web that snapped his head back, tightened his spine, and jolted the muscles in his legs. The blast was quick, but he couldn't tell when it stopped.   
  
***  
  
Simon says, make a wormhole.  
  
  
I'm not playing, Harvey.  
  
  
Simon says, wear your heart on your sleeve.  
  
  
Give it up. It's over.  
  
  
Simon says, be a naive idiot.  
  
  
You just don't know when to stop, do you?  
  
  
Well, fine. Just be that way, then.  
  
  
Fine. I will  
  
  
Uh oh. Simon didn't say.  
  
***  
  
They acted like Peacekeepers, even dressed in black and red uniforms, but there wasn't a Sebacean among them. Not that he had seen anyway. Two wannabes kept him company now: one that reminded him of Co-Kura, but taller and armed with a pulse rifle, and something else only Tim Burton could dream up. A green and black snake with shoulders and legs. They stood guard in perfect, silent discipline.  
  
The room was not designed to hold prisoners. Ironic. He had time to think about it, with nothing better to do than sit on the bunk and watch the guys watching him. His home for so long had been a converted cell. Now his cell was converted crew quarters. He missed the humor in it though, because he didn't feel like laughing. Maybe it had something to do with the shackles on his wrists.  
  
A door opened, solid panels pulling apart with a grinding hiss. Outside, the corridor was dark, muted light bouncing off bulkheads, evaporating as if it had no will of its own. He recognized the footsteps, knew the cadence well.  
  
"You turned me in." His voice was tight, but not angry. He should be mad, insanely so, but he couldn't summon up the energy.   
  
She had the decency to face him without excuses. "Yes."  
  
His wit failed, sucked dry by the open confession. He searched for something to say but all his best material didn't apply anymore. He wasn't sure he could even talk to himself.   
  
"I didn't come here to apologize," she said into the gap.  
  
He lifted his gaze with an effort. Waited.  
  
"You asked why I left him, and I never answered. Do you still want to hear?"  
  
He didn't say no.  
  
"Talas lost everything, his whole way of life. It wasn't his fault. Some competition between him and his captain. But he started to blame me. If he hadn't come with me, escaped with me, he might have been able to redeem himself eventually." She chuckled, a cheap knock-off of mirth. "I contaminated him."  
  
Pressure built behind his eyes, making it difficult to continue staring. It was someone else's voice he heard, saying similar lines in a different context.   
  
"It was not my intention to betray you. But when I found Talas, I knew I had the means to give him back his life. I didn't know I would regret this as much as I do."  
  
"Don't- regret it." His own compassion surprised him. "If our positions were reversed, I might have done the same thing."  
  
"No. You wouldn't have."  
  
Four years ago, she would have been right. Today, he didn't know. Only he suspected that, for Aeryn, he might betray anyone.  
  
"Talas won't hurt you."  
  
He didn't have the heart to laugh in her face. Instead, he leaned his head back, watched her beneath heavy eyelids. He could feel engine vibration through the wall behind him, knew the craft was speeding past stars in a direction he didn't want to go. "He doesn't have to."  
  
Her mouth opened, lips parting to protest. But no words came out. No arguments to back up her claim. No reassurances that everything would work out. Nothing. The truth of her own lie stopping her cold. All she had left to do was leave.   
  
He watched her go.  
  
***  
  
Jack and Jill, went up the hill  
To fetch a pail of water  
Jack fell down and broke his crown-  
  
  
And Jill laughed her fucking ass off.  
  
  
You have become such a cynic, John.  
  
***  
  
He was the guest of honor at a deranged masquerade party, but someone forgot to tell him the theme. He didn't like his costume much; the one of prisoner forced to move about in chains. Not when everyone around him wore Peacekeeper leathers and carried guns. But that could be dealt with. It was their faces that bothered him most. Disturbing masks of red scales or iridescent leather, discolored eyes and last season's stripes, species he had no hope of recognizing.   
  
For a while, he tried to give names to his guards. Playing Adam in the Garden. It amused him for a few days but they didn't answer to the words he called them and his creativity was running low.  
  
Rainbow Bright and Elmo brought him to the bridge, saying only that Talas wished to see him. The captain was an absent host and left him standing for arns, watching the passage of stars beyond the forward view screen.  
  
He decided to name constellations instead, going through the alphabet. Kept getting stuck on A. His guards were no help; they didn't even know the alphabet. And they had games of their own to play.  
  
Watch the Prisoner: the most popular. Stare with Malice: a close second.  
  
He suggested hide and seek. He'd even let them go first. They didn't know that one either. Didn't care to learn.  
  
Talas finally strode into the command center of the small mercenary ship. Resplendent in an overused uniform, dark hair bound in a tight braid. Dark eyes sweeping across his domain, mimicking Crais' manic gleam. "They were nothing," he explained to an unasked question, arms gesturing wide. "I gave them discipline. Structure." His tone betrayed fondness toward a crew of castoffs and refugees, creatures his upbringing would classify as inferior. "Leadership."  
  
"But?"  
  
The former officer rocked on his heels, hands slapping to his sides. "But. They cannot give me what I want. Only you can do that, John Crichton."  
  
This guy didn't have Bialar's charisma, but sounded like he belonged to the same Rhetoric Club for Men. "You want the Peacekeepers to take you back."  
  
"Yes."   
  
"They'll retire you. And we're not talking shuffleboard and beach bingo."  
  
Talas smiled. "I will prove my worth to them. My value as an officer."  
  
"You're a deserter."  
  
Fury tightened the smile into a narrow slash that melted only through resolute effort. The next words were spoken thoughtfully. "Have you regrets, John Crichton?"  
  
Several. He could make a list, but checking it twice would take too long. "Everyone does."  
  
"I have but one. And a rare opportunity to rectify the wrong." Talas paused at a control console, plucking a data chip from its slot. Held it up, twisting it between gloved fingers. A sinkhole of alloy and crystal, absorbing light and refusing to give any back in return. "This is my pardon. If I can deliver what I promised."  
  
He knew he was supposed to say something now, help along the pre-written speech. A script to be followed but he had forgotten his lines.   
  
Talas ignored the silence. "Peacekeeper Command does not believe I have captured the infamous John Crichton."  
  
There was a point when the repetition of his own name became funny. The two words merged into one, spoken in the same breath, articulated like a single phrase. Tack on the extra adjective and he had the recipe for great comedy.  
  
Could be worse. He could always go back to being 'The Human.'   
  
"You didn't catch me," he said, not trying to hide his contempt "She did."   
  
Open mouth, insert foot. Repeat as necessary.  
  
Not enough time to say "no offense" before something hard struck the base of his neck, dropping him to his knees, tears blurring his eyes. He decided to stay there for a while, wondering when it became normal to laugh in response to pain.  
  
"I need evidence to back up my claim."  
  
His sight cleared to a black bladed knife and tunnel vision took over. Even the hand holding the blade was meaningless except for its ability to wield a weapon. What mattered was the sliver of metal poised inches from his face.   
  
"Yeah?" Seemed ridiculous to be afraid of such a non-technical device, after everything he'd been subjected to. How could something that didn't have an on/off switch be this threatening? "I'll give you the number for the LAPD. Tell 'em you want the OJ special."  
  
A heavy grip took his shoulders and fingers clutched his hair. Immobilizing his head, pinning him down on his knees, pulling chains taunt around his wrists. He struggled, but the hands just got tighter, remorseless. The guards didn't know he had a problem being manhandled. They didn't understand everyone in the universe already thought they had the right to fuck with his head, poke, prod, and manipulate. They didn't care his warranty was long expired and he had fought too hard to stay in control of himself. They were just doing their job.   
  
"Get off me!"   
  
"I only need a sample." Talas was quick and precise, drawing the knife in one deep, deliberate stroke along the line of cheekbone. The hand of a surgeon not intent on healing, but harming, extracting a growl that came less from pain than by helpless frustration. When finished, Talas regarded his prize calmly.   
  
Blood on a blade. Proof.  
  
He pitched forward, suddenly released, and just avoided hitting the deck in his hurry to shrug off an unwanted grasp. Raised a hand to his face, the other partnered through a mutual connection of chain. His fingers came away crimson and he scratched another name off the Christmas Card List.  
  
"See that this gets transmitted," Talas was saying. "And get him out of my sight."  
  
Couldn't just bow out gracefully. Even as he was hauled to his feet, pulled toward the door, he had to get in a parting shot, push his luck a little more. "Don't play stupid, Talas. They're gonna kill you, as soon as you hand me over."  
  
Talas turned away. "I won't die alone."  
  
***  
  
It was her scent, a deceptive imitation of lavender and talcum powder. Obvious to him now that it no longer lingered in his clothing or soaked through his bed. He missed it. Missed her presence, the comfort of something else living and breathing beside him. Someone to count on.  
  
He needed to reconsider his taste in women.   
  
"What do you want?"  
  
She dismissed the guards, demoting them to sentries on the other side of solid walls. Out of sight, but not out of mind. "I'm here to fix your face," she said, moving to where he sat, laying her medical supplies on the bunk.  
  
"Thanks, but no thanks." He dropped his feet to the floor, pushed upright and away from her. Stubborn refusal his only weapon and shield against another sucker punch.  
  
"Do you want it to scar?"  
  
That made him laugh. "I think I'm gonna pass on the GQ cover."  
  
"John-."  
  
"No!" He bit down on his words before the spark of resentment became a full-blown conflagration. Close his eyes. Count to three. Open his eyes again. "No," he repeated, calmer. "You're not allowed to call me that. We have a deal." *Had a deal.*   
  
She watched her feet, wordlessly submitting to the rebuke. Taking the blame. She didn't keep it for long, tossing it away with a lift of her head. "I can call them back. Make them restrain you."   
  
He almost told her to go ahead. Do it, call Tweedle Dee and Dum for another game of pin the tail on the jackass. But he didn't want to be It anymore. Let someone else have a turn. He sat back down and tried not to flinch when she touched him.  
  
Her ministration was tender. Agonizingly gentle. He wanted to interpret the care as compassion, but knew better. Still couldn't bring himself to hate her. Filled the emptiness with words, because it was one of the things he was good at.  
  
"What happens to you when he goes back for his merit badge? He can't take you with him."   
  
"There is a substantial reward," she said, voice sounding overtly casual, downplaying the sudden twitch of her hand. "It will be divided among the crew and I will get an equal share. Should be enough to last me awhile."   
  
She sounded disappointed; he almost felt sorry for her. Almost asked if she was okay with it. "And you believe it's going to work out that way?"  
  
She finished her task, returning tools and supplies to the small carrying case. Standing back as if admiring her handiwork. Refusing to meet his gaze no matter how hard he tried to catch her eye. "What's not to believe?"  
  
"You really think the Peacekeepers are going to give Talas everything he asked for?"  
  
"You underestimate your value."  
  
"No," he said, louder than he wanted. "I know how much I'm worth."  
  
"It's not about the currency," she protested.  
  
"Oh? Then what? Just doing your good deed for the day?"  
  
She wouldn't answer. "I told you to stay behind."  
  
"This is my fault?" Un-fucking-believable. He leaned forward on his elbows, grinding palms into his eyes. Back up. Take a deep breath and try again. "Take my word for it. I know these people," he said. "They're not gonna let your boyfriend live and they sure as hell won't give you and the dirty dozen no damn reward."  
  
There was an edge to her voice, a willful assertion trying to rise above uncertainty "Talas has taken precautions. He will meet with the retrieval squad alone. See to it that his pardon is authorized and the reward is delivered. Once the crew and myself are safely away, he will take them to you. Commandant Grayza has agreed to these terms."  
  
"Grayza?" His reaction to the name was physical. A jolt, like he'd been stuck with a pin. One encounter with the woman was enough to legitimize the threat she posed. Worse, Scorpius was afraid of her, and that terrified him.  
  
"It was his request that she be present."  
  
Too many connotations. Things he couldn't worry about right now. He tried to make her look at him, using only his voice. Hoping he wasn't totally wrong about her all along. "You don't have to go through with this."  
  
"It's too late. It's already done."  
  
"No. It's not." He was off the bunk in an instant and standing before her. Trying to take her hands in his, even though the shackles made it difficult. Her reluctance made it impossible. "It's never too late."  
  
She tilted her head. "You want me to betray Talas? For you?"  
  
Yeah, that's exactly what he wanted. "You'd be saving him. Keeping him alive."  
  
Anguish put lines in her face. "You don't understand."  
  
"No. No, I don't. It's a theme I've got going."  
  
"Do you really want to save Talas' life? Or are you hoping I'll help you escape?"  
  
He took too long to answer. Too long forming the lie that would make her do what he wanted.  
  
She laughed, resignation dipped in scorn, and gathered her medical case. Started for the door.  
  
He ignored better judgment. He'd pay for this later but hell, his credit was good. "Wait."   
  
"I don't care about you," she said, not turning to face him. "And I won't think of you when you're gone."   
  
She left quickly, her abrupt departure and stinging words sucking the air out of his lungs. Sucked the air right out of the room. Leaving in its place the remnants of lavender perfume.  
  
***  
  
And no one could see him?  
  
  
Big Bird. He was the only one.  
  
  
Ah. His imaginary friend.  
  
  
No. He was real. Just- never around when anyone else was.  
  
  
An elephant with cloaking capabilities?  
  
  
He wasn't an elephant. He was a Snuffleuffagus.  
  
  
I don't understand.  
  
  
Trust me on this one.  
  
  
And this is considered educational programming?  
  
  
Yeah.  
  
  
Well. Explains a lot about your species.  
  
***  
  
"Not exactly the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval. What is this place?"  
  
"A Mernonian breeding facility," Talas said, walking just ahead. The leader of an unlikely party. She trailed somewhere at the back. Felt more than seen. Mr. Ed and Beetlejuice keeping close guard on each side. Silently omnipresent.   
  
They arrived through a narrow staircase, cutting down past the rocky terrain of the planet, deep beneath a useless landscape. Into a vast corridor, stretching out wide and long, disappearing around a corner at one end and emptying into a larger chamber at the other. A low ceiling took away the sense of space, leaving a heavy and claustrophobic feeling, absorbing echoes. Dirt and debris clung to places where floor met wall, around doorways, among rows of defunct incubators and cradles. Medical equipment whose function he could only guess at lay dormant and still.  
  
"Mernonian. Never heard of 'em."  
  
"They are nearly extinct now. A genetic defect."  
  
"Defect?"  
  
"Yes." Talas spoke like a tour guide, voice droning over history that held no personal significance. "They can not produce females of their own. It became necessary to gather surrogates from other species. Unfortunately, their efforts failed. Something to do with mixed bloodlines, I believe."  
  
"Oh." He didn't want to think about the lives that had started or ended here. Couldn't help but hear cries that had nothing to do with the joy of new existence. Not the way it was meant to be. Not what he wanted for his own-.  
  
He backed away from those thoughts quickly, with an efficiency learned cycles ago, over a child that wouldn't be born until long after he was dead. It was becoming a pattern. Two for two. Well, technically one for him and one for the other guy. But He was dead already. The irony would have made him laugh except his throat was too tight.  
  
"Gotta hand it to you. You picked a hell of a place for a meeting."  
  
Talas stopped before a doorway, pushed it open with one hand. "The rendezvous is elsewhere."   
  
He was pushed from behind, propelled into a room holding shadows. Light crept in hesitantly from the corridor, reluctantly illuminating the focal point and purpose of the chamber.  
  
It was a chair by association only, recognizable through a percentage of shared characteristics. A high back sloped into a severe recline, raised support for feet that would cause knees to bend awkwardly apart, narrow arms extending in a straight horizontal line. Upholstered in surgical steel. Decorated by constraining bands of metal.   
  
"It's not very comfortable, but it will keep you immobile until I am able to return."  
  
It took a moment to assemble the words into meaning. He tore his gaze away from the birthing chair and directed it onto the captain. "You're gonna leave me here?"  
  
"I must meet with the retrieval squad personally." Talas offered a smile. "Don't worry. I'll post someone outside. You'll be fine."  
  
Oh sure. Fine. That's comforting. He was turned, shackles removed from his wrists. Given a brief opening to fight back, but she was staring at him, standing just inside the door. Her face devoid of emotion. Pinning him in place by her detachment. Watching with moderated interest as he was placed into the chair.  
  
Never once ducking his gaze.  
  
"Do you understand what loyalty is?" Talas asked.  
  
"I've heard of it." Clasps circled his arms, more over his legs. One across his forehead. Making him want to twitch every time a strap snapped into place. He felt like a bug in an entomologist's tray. Only instead of a cotton ball soaked in ether, he was getting a speech. At least Scorpius waited until he was in the Chair before proselytizing.   
  
But Scorpy always did go that extra mile. Three stars for showmanship.  
  
"Without loyalty, empires crumble. Armies disintegrate. Worlds are lost. It is a great honor and responsibility to be the recipient of someone's loyalty. But it must be twofold. There must be give and take." Talas paused, rewinding a stream of consciousness to form lateral thoughts. "I was loyal. I was everything a Peacekeeper was meant to be."  
  
She stepped forward, dropping a bag from her shoulder and reaching inside. The object retrieved looked about the size and shape of a derringer but with a thick injector needle sticking out from the stunted barrel.   
  
"What's that?" His eyes followed her as she approached, dipping briefly to the item she carried, then back to her face. Unable to read her expression. He continued to watch until she took a place by the side of his head. Just on the edge of his peripheral vision.  
  
"Taminy poison," Talas said. "I came across it some cycles ago and acquired a small sample. Fascinating stuff. The method of delivery makes it ideal for what I have in mind."  
  
"Poison. I thought they wanted me alive?" An odd sense of alarm welled inside him. Caught between instinctual need to survive now and the knowledge of a worser fate once the Peacekeepers got their hands on him. *Do me the favor.*  
  
"You are my revenge, John Crichton. I won't let you die yet."   
  
"Revenge. But you're-" The noise he made wasn't exactly a giggle. It was far too uncivilized for that. "You want to kill Grayza?"   
  
She spoke, clipping her words where she could. Talking too close to his ear. "It works like a virus, transmitted through the respiration of a host. It is especially effective against Sebaceans, but used against a variety of species. By the time Talas returns to retrieve you, the poison should reach full potency. Anyone entering this room will be infected within microts."  
  
"Anyone?"   
  
"Including myself," the ex-Peacekeeper answered, lifting his chin, expression taking on the subtle pride of a martyr.   
  
"You're one sick bastard."  
  
Talas crossed his hands behind his back, giving a nod as indication the procedure should begin.  
  
He could feel more than see the injector being readied. Sensed its proximity. Knew this was going to hurt. Didn't want her to be the one to do it. "Wait. Let's talk about this." Oh yeah. That always works. Why not try please? Break out the magic word.   
  
The needle found a place against the side of his neck, burrowed deep and spread liquid heat through his veins. He exhaled through his teeth, couldn't make his jaw loosen up again. "What if I warn them? Totally screw your plan."  
  
"You won't." Talas laughed with dark humor. "I am not sure what effect the poison will have on your physiology, but there's a chance it won't kill you. Imagine the look of surprise on the Commandant's face."  
  
Business was complete. No more fanfare. No more parades. The band packed up and all the potato salad was gone. Talas left. His Peacekeeper impressionists followed behind.   
  
She didn't look back as she walked around the chair. She wouldn't say goodbye. She never really said hello.   
  
The door closed and took the light with it. Left alone with only the voice in his head for company.  
  
***  
  
Fine. One. But no more. You understand me?  
  
  
Yes, John. Of course.  
  
  
Last. One.  
  
Little Jack Horner  
Sits in a corner  
Extracting cube roots to infinity,  
An assignment for boys  
That will minimize noise  
And produce a more peaceful vicinity.  
  
  
That is just so wrong.  
  
***  
  
Fever slicked his skin with sweat, making muscles sore and bones ache. There was a tickle in his throat that made him want to cough and laugh at the same time. A pain in his head that let him be glad the lights were out.  
  
Could be dying. He didn't want to think about that right now.   
  
He lost track of time a while ago, couple of hours maybe, nothing significant. For a while, he strained against the chair's bindings, but they proved to be stronger than him. And the more he struggled, the weaker he got. Had to save something for later. Something in reserve for Grayza. Something besides the poison gestating throughout his body.   
  
Plague. Combine one part Human, one part weird science. Shake. Great for parties.  
  
There was a thought to dwell on. Him, striding through the decks of a Command Carrier, bodies falling at his feet. He'd be able to see their faces this time. Up close and personal as they died.  
  
Okay. Bad choice. Don't dwell on that.  
  
Ears strained in the darkness, the only sense available to him. But even then his breathing was too loud, his heart beat like machine gun fire, and something scratched and scurried inside the walls. Fueling hope.  
  
Hope was a cruel pastime. A life raft with a slow leak. A parachute with no ripcord. Filling his head with wishes that wouldn't come true. Letting him think that no matter what, it would all turn out right in the end.  
  
He wasn't supposed to be thinking, though. He was supposed to be listening. Not that he knew what he was listening for exactly.   
  
The discharge of a pulse rifle resonated from outside.  
  
There. That's it.   
  
The door opened, admitting feeble light. Illumination still more blinding than the complete darkness of before. He blinked to focus and refocus on the silhouette revealed. Not Aeryn. Not this time. The understudy. But who was he to complain?   
  
She crossed the room toward the chair, slinging a rifle behind her shoulder as she walked. Unsteady fingers worked the straps that held him prone on steel. "We need to hurry." Once the last binding was removed, she moved back toward the door, watching through the crack.  
  
He slid out of the chair, fought a wave of nausea, and tried to stretch the cramps out of his shoulders. He took a step forward, toward the door and her. Then remembered. "Whoa. Wait. You've got to go." Words fell thick off his tongue, slurred. He backed away, steadying himself with a hand on the chair. "Killer flu. Remember?"  
  
She glanced impatiently at him. Her rifle back in her hands, but she held it like someone unaccustomed to that end of a weapon. "We don't have time for this."  
  
"No. No no. You can't be around me." Maybe already too late.  
  
"It's alright." Her expression softened, anxious lines smoothing out in a complacent grin. "You don't have to worry about me."  
  
"You're immune?"  
  
"Yes. But it's not going to matter if we continue to stand here and talk." She peered around the doorway, hands gripping anxiously around the stock of the rifle.  
  
Good point. He nodded, instantly regretting how it jarred his brain. "Yeah. Okay. Let's move." He followed her out into the corridor. Stepped over the body of Beetlejuice. Picked up the weapon held in limp, useless hands. *Won't be needing that anymore, buddy.*  
  
Footsteps advanced toward them. Heavy boots, a whole Squadron's worth, made noise just around the corner.  
  
She ran, heading in the opposite direction. Into unknown reaches of the facility. He followed, paying far too much attention to ordering his steps. Left. Right. Left again. One after the other. Corridors blurred past him, turns and side routes, bends and branches. He hoped she knew where they were going. Or at least, knew where they had been. Should have left a trail of breadcrumbs along the way.  
  
The rifle tumbled from his hand. Tripped his feet. Triggered the fall to his knees. The mechanics of rising proved too complicated. He tried. Failed. Shook off her hand as it tried to reach under his arm. "No."  
  
"We stay here, they'll find us."  
  
"I'm slowing you down." He sat back on his heels, palms braced against his thighs. "You go." Talking was hard. Thinking was worse. Everything was hot but he'd freeze to death if he took his coat off.  
  
"They'll kill you." She stepped past him, back the way they came, listening for signs of pursuit.  
  
He waved a hand through the air, confused by how much energy it took. "At least I'll take a few of them with me."  
  
"No." She came around from behind, knelt to face him. "You won't die that way."  
  
Didn't want to die. So much left to do. Things that needed to be said to friends he needed to find. "I just- Need a minute."   
  
An arm looped through his, dragging him to his feet, tried to help him find an elusive balance. "I don't have any minutes."  
  
He thought that was funny. She didn't get it.  
  
They made it around one more corner before his legs gave out again. This time when he hit the floor, he knew he was down to stay.  
  
She knew it too.  
  
An adjoining doorway jarred open against her shoulder, granting her a peek inside. Satisfied by what she found, she made him hold the guns, then dragged him across the threshold by the shoulders of his coat.  
  
"Wake up," he heard her say. "Stay awake." Her voice came from a distance but her breath was close to his ear. He wanted to touch her, but his arm wouldn't move. He wished he could see her, but the light was too faint. All he really wanted to do was sleep.  
  
Maybe he'd just rest his eyes for a second.  
  
***  
  
Now I lay me down to sleep  
I pray the Lord my soul to keep  
  
  
You don't have a soul  
  
  
That's not a very nice thing to say.  
  
  
Truth hurts.  
  
  
If I should die before I'm done.  
  
  
Tell Rygel he can have my gun.  
  
***  
  
He woke to pins and needles. And a hand covering his mouth.  
  
They were in a box. Tiny and cramped, him between her legs with his back to her chest. The lid was partially open, just enough to make it look like there was no reason for it to be closed. Not enough to actually see what was inside.   
  
No one here but us wabbits.  
  
A rifle was in his lap, butt end against his thigh. Aiming up just in case someone did decide to poke their head over. She held it with her free hand, reaching around him, letting the hand over his mouth fall as he became alert. He replaced her finger on the trigger guard with one of his own.   
  
Muffled voices communicated with each other outside. Brief, economical words: not here, moving on to the next room. Careful footsteps and the shutting of a door.  
  
They continued to sit until the search party was long gone. Even though the air inside their small container was hot. Regardless how vehemently his knees protested.   
  
"I think they're gone," she whispered finally, lips almost touching his ear.  
  
He agreed with a nod, pushed back the lid slowly so it wouldn't fall, and tried to unfold himself from the box. Less than graceful. Wondering just how the hell she got him in here. They helped each other out, clattering and clanking loudly as they attempted to be quiet. He reached back for the second rifle, set it down on an adjoining crate.  
  
There were dozens of similar boxes in the room, various sizes and shapes, clustered and stacked against rough stone walls. A musty smell of long rotten foodstuff. Some deeper stench he didn't want to place. Unrecycled air.  
  
She lowered herself to the floor, drew knees tight against her chest, let out a long breath. Weary. "That was close." Raked trembling fingers through her hair. "We can't stay here. Can you travel?"  
  
"Yeah." More or less. "I'm better."   
  
His good health did not seem to please her. "Your system worked through the poison faster than most."  
  
"That's a good thing, right?" He reached down to help her to her feet.  
  
She nodded. A slow, almost disappointed dip of her head. Ignored the hand up and stood on her own. "Yes. It means you are no longer contagious."  
  
"Thank you."   
  
"For what?" She looked toward him, surprised. Not wanting to meet his gaze, looking at his shoulder.  
  
"You didn't have to stay with me. Some risk you took"  
  
"Don't." She turned away quickly. "Don't thank me for anything."  
  
"Fine." He unloaded one of the rifles, hiding it back inside a box before slipping the extra oil cartridges in his pocket. He only wanted to carry one weapon. Remembering he wasn't supposed to trust her. Didn't want her to have a gun.  
  
She didn't argue.   
  
"You know where we're going?" He leaned against the door, pressed his ear to the surface. Heard nothing.  
  
She didn't give an answer. No sound or sign.  
  
"Well?"  
  
"We're almost there." A hesitant response that rattled his confidence.   
  
He looked back. "Where?"  
  
"I told you. Talas took precautions. There's a ship hidden in a ravine on the surface." Her patience was waning, tightening her voice, creasing her brow. She tried to reach around him.  
  
He stopped her, extending his arm across the door, becoming a barrier. "Why did you come back?"  
  
"To rescue you."   
  
Liar. "Why'd you really come back?"  
  
Frustration dipped the corners of her mouth. Her eyes darted to his arm, then back to him. "For Talas."  
  
"Talas?" She wouldn't want to explain. But he wasn't sick anymore. He could stand here all day.  
  
"I couldn't let him go through with this. Killing himself for revenge."  
  
It was only half an answer. There was more. Already had an idea what it was, just wasn't sure what he would do about it. He stepped away from the door. "Ladies first."  
  
***  
  
It's impossible, you realize.  
  
  
What is?  
  
  
That a cow would produce enough thrust to lift itself into orbit.  
  
  
It's make-believe. Like Santa Claus. Just Rhymes.  
  
  
Lies told to children for the amusement of adults.  
  
  
No. More like morality lessons. Right and wrong.  
  
  
And you think Peacekeeper indoctrination is cruel.  
  
  
Just. Shut up.  
  
  
Don't know what the dish saw in that spoon anyway.  
  
***  
  
She led him through an access shaft to the surface, among rocky outcrops, to a system of canyons beyond the breeding facility. Walking just ahead of him, saying nothing. He stopped her when they reached the ravine, pulling her into a recess along the wall.   
  
The ship was covered in a camouflaging net. Smaller than a transport pod, of a design he did not recognize. It appeared abandoned and empty. He knew better than to trust appearances. "So what's the plan?"  
  
"Plan?"  
  
"Yeah. Plan. Your plan."  
  
She didn't understand. Or pretended not to.  
  
"Talas' pardon depends on turning me over. He doesn't deliver, the Peacekeepers get pissy. He dies anyway. You go through all this effort for nothing."  
  
She looked at him with a patented indifference. "If you thought this was a trap, why did you come along?"  
  
"I figured my odds were better this way." And because he hoped he was wrong. He missed being wrong. Missed being innocent.   
  
"You are right," she said. "I never intended to help you escape."  
  
It wasn't a conscious act, aiming the rifle at her. He wasn't aware of it until he saw her gaze dip. Didn't comprehend the deed until revulsion inflicted a stranglehold on his gut. It should be unnatural to look at someone over the length of a weapon, unnatural for him.   
  
Didn't remember the last time he felt comfortable unarmed.  
  
"You were just trying to keep me busy until the poison wore off."  
  
She answered without hesitation. "Yes."  
  
Damn. He knew how to deal with enemies. Took a crash course in Villains 101 first day off the farm. He could handle enemies that turned into allies, developing hate into a mild form of distrust. Even understood the necessity of friends using him for their own purposes.  
  
But this. Was different. This was her. It wasn't betrayal exactly. She played by the rules they had established. Don't get close. No promises. No expectations. No feelings.  
  
He changed the game because he was incapable of not caring. Now he held a gun to her, knowing he would do what he had to. He didn't want this responsibly. Had too many of them already. Always had to make the hard choices. *Don't make me do this.* "We have a problem then."   
  
"No. It's too late now."  
  
His turn to pretend not to understand. "Too late."  
  
She nodded. "The storage room. I should have let them find you there while you were still unconscious. I could have hid. They weren't after me anyway. Talas thinks I'm far away with the rest of the crew. Counting my share of the reward."   
  
"Why didn't you?"  
  
"Because I want to live with myself." She smiled, self depreciating thing that it was. "And I didn't want to die alone."  
  
He dropped the rifle to his side and cupped a hand against her cheek. Felt how hot the skin was. Detected the weakness. His voice came in a forced rush. "You're infected."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"You lied to me."  
  
"You wouldn't have come otherwise."  
  
"There's got to be an antidote. A cure. Something."   
  
"The poison is fatal to my kind. There is nothing you or I can do."  
  
He didn't want to believe that. There was always something he could do. "I'm sorry." Apologize. He could do that.  
  
"Don't be." She pulled away, stepping out of the crevice. Walked toward the concealed ship. "If you still wish to escape, we don't have much time. Talas will eventually come here when you are not found in the facility."  
  
He followed, uncertain, slinging the rifle over his shoulder. No point holding the weapon on her anymore.   
  
She helped him pull the netting from the ship. "There is an escape route programmed into the navigational system. An evasive course that should allow you to fly undetected from the planet. You might be able to change the rendezvous point. Take you somewhere else, to meet your Leviathan."  
  
"Come with me."  
  
"No." She laughed. "But I'll give you a head start. A hundred microts before I contact Talas and tell him you took his ship. You still have the chance to escape if fate wishes it."   
  
The smile wasn't intentional. He did it anyway. "Blame it on fate and it's not your fault, huh?"  
  
"Ninety eight microts."   
  
He moved, palmed the access hatch to the ship. Stopped. He felt his jaw work, trying to force out words. But he had none for this occasion. Couldn't bring himself to thank her. Didn't want to condemn her. Turning, he sought out her gaze.   
  
"Goodbye. John." A hesitation. One last look. Then she spun and ran back toward the facility.   
  
When she was no longer visible, lost between the walls of the canyon, he climbed into the ship and shut the hatch firmly behind him.  
  
***  
  
It was stupid to go back to Lenac. He knew it. Told himself a dozen times it was stupid. Could add this one to his list of Really Dumb Things. But he did it anyway. It was the last stop.  
  
He left Talas' getaway craft in a maintenance bay of the shipyard under the pretense of needing a tune-up. Mechanic quoted a rip-off price, but he didn't care. He wasn't going to come back for it.  
  
A shuttle took him from the shipyard to the transport shaft and the elevator brought him down to the planet. Didn't need to adjust to the increased gravity as the car descended. His shoulders already stooped, his head already bowed. Atlas had it easy.  
  
He found the clerk of the boarding house in an office on the main floor. Separated from the rabble by a single counter.  
  
"I had a room here a weeken ago. Me and a-" He never did ask her species. "Yellow female. I left some things here. Do you have them?"  
  
"Remember," the clerk said. "Peacekeeper and tralk leave without pay. Mine now."  
  
He didn't know which word made his jaw tense. Wished he brought the rifle, but that would have been too awkward to carry. Would have made him stand out too much. Drew attention he needed to avoid since his disguise was lost. His hand edged to his side, reaching for something that wasn't there. The art of the fake out. "My regiment has my currency. Should I summon them here so they can pay you? In full?" When did he learn to make his voice so cold?  
  
The Lenac stuttered. "No, sir. Only hold things. " It backed through a door, returned moments later with a pair of traveling bags. "Take. Yours."  
  
Wasn't much to scavenge. Holsters were gone. Only one pulse pistol in the bag. Winona. Or her friend. "Where's the other one?"  
  
"Don't steal from Peacekeeper," the clerk protested. "Maybe assistant did."  
  
He shoved the pistol in the waist of his pants. "Tell your assistant. The price of that pistol, and anything else that's missing, should cover the expense of the room."  
  
"Yes." The clerk nodded agreeably, loose flesh bobbling around globular eyes. "Even account."  
  
He slung his bag over his shoulder. Pushed hers back toward the clerk. "Keep this."  
  
"Tralk come back?"  
  
"Micha," he said, turning around for the door. Stepping out into the street. "Her name is Micha."  
  
***  
  
A neural clone with a bar and a pulse pistol walk into a human.  
  
He sat at the long galley table. Right in the middle, a line of empty chairs stretching out on either side. It was better this way. Alone.   
  
There was food, enough left for two. But he wasn't hungry. Plenty of raslak, though. Not the good stuff, but pure authentic rotgut. Made him warm in the places he was cold, and cold where he should be hot.  
  
"John Crichton?"  
  
If he looked up at the clamshell with one eye closed, he could pretend. They all looked the same to him. Just a different voice. He'd have to listen with one ear closed. "Yeah, Pilot?"  
  
"Is there another destination?"  
  
"Hm." He planted hands on the table, used the leverage to gain momentum. Stood. Reached for the bottle. "Nope. Not going anywhere else. I'm done."  
  
"Done?"  
  
"Yeah. Done. Through. Fat lady singing." He moved for the door, toward gently sloping corridors. Sixth door on the right was his. They were all his now.  
  
"No more searching?" Pilot almost sounded disappointed. Partially relieved. Image already fading from the clamshell.  
  
He paused, took a drink, studied the floor. Then kept walking.  
  
***  
  
You are my sunshine  
My only sunshine  
  
  
Harv-  
  
  
You make me happy  
When skies are gray-  
  
  
Harvey!  
  
  
Yes, John?  
  
  
Don't-   
  
  
Don't what?  
  
  
Nothing. Never mind.  
  
  
  
Are you sure?  
  
  
Yeah. Keep singing.  
  
  
You'll never know dear  
How much I love you  
Please don't take,   
My sunshine   
Away 


End file.
